


The Lovers

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [51]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Criticism, F/M, Love Confessions, Prostitution, Punishment, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: [Set prior to the beginning of the series] Both Byakuya and Hisana receive upbraidings from their respective betters.  Byakuya learns of the marital arrangement that his family has in mind for him.  Hisana learns that she will be sent away for a month.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Series: A Thin Red Line [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	The Lovers

Even at dawn, shimmering sheets of heat rise from the horizon-line. It pounds at Byakuya, striking his shoulders and brow with swift, unremitting blows. Sweat beads across his back, running quick down his spine, setting off a cacophony of internal noise. 

Everything hurts. His knuckles are bruised. His right eye is swollen shut. His bottom lip is slit. And, at least two of his ribs are cracked. 

But, he continues, undeterred. 

With each swing of his zanpakutō he feels a sense of relief through the sizzle of pain. It isn’t peace, but the sting of shame abates, if only for a moment. The burn of muscle and the deep breaths he takes to keep himself centered force back the memories, like a dam. The tide of memory, however, is rising ever upward, the pressure escalating until flashes of last night trickle through.

The smell of the river hits him first; it’s the stench of stagnating water and decaying fish. It imbues every molecule, every breath, even now as he swordfights amid the indigo shades of the pre-dawn hours. 

Next comes the darkness. Flashes of pale skin, of oily silk. Neither he nor Tadahiro brandished a true weapon. Neither of them resorted to kidō. Neither even thought to prepare or to utilize any proper technique or strategy. 

No, what they did last night was inelegant. It was primitive. Primal, even. 

It was a brawl. 

Hints of the deeply seeded rage that flooded him hours ago still flicker like hot coals under his skin. The rancor had proven sweet, but poisonous. It overwhelmed him, costing him some easily guardable blows.

Last night, however, wasn’t about victory or defeat. He hadn’t wanted to _kill_ Tadahiro, and he very much suspected that feeling was mutual. What Byakuya wanted desperately—no, _needed_ desperately—was catharsis as salve for a bruised pride.

On that empty bridge in the dead of night, Byakuya wasn’t fighting _just_ Tadahiro. Tadahiro had become the physical manifestation of _everything_ hammering Byakuya down. For years. Every slight, every moment of stolen happiness, every grief crashed over him, and he wanted nothing more than to find retribution, to force the steady arc of the hammer off its course.

_An impossible wish._

Byakuya lowers Senbonzakura. Defeat washes over him. He failed last night. He failed Hisana. He failed himself. Worst of all, he is beginning to believe he cannot stop the mounting failures to come. Fate has placed him in the attitude of a man trying to hold back an avalanche. He will not succeed on his current course.

“Master Kuchiki,” rings the familiar tenor of his steward.

Sheathing Senbonzakura, Byakuya turns to find the man standing on the walkway edging the manor. 

“The Lord requires your presence.”

Byakuya had wondered how long it would take to be summoned to discuss the night’s events with his grandfather. Daybreak, however, seems _excessive_ , he thinks to himself as he treads through the labyrinthian halls of the estate.

Like a proper grandson, Byakuya kneels before the door to his grandfather’s study and announces his presence. When Grandfather grants him permission to enter, he slides the door back and takes a seat before the small writing desk where his grandfather is issuing written orders for his squad. 

Once settled, Grandfather tears his attention from the paperwork to study Byakuya. “You look _festive_ ,” he notes, lingering briefly on Byakuya’s blackened eye, before going back to signing an order, “I take it that you thought staking potential civil war with the head of the Konoe family was the appropriate redress to the injury of a broken hairpin?”

“It wasn’t _just_ a broken hairpin. It was—”

“A woman?” Grandfather interrupts, gaze flickering to Byakuya briefly before returning to the parchment. “Not according to my report of the night.”

Byakuya flusters at this. Eyes narrowing as a tendril of anger smokes inside his stomach. “A report?”

“Yes,” answers Grandfather, pointedly, moving to another document, “The woman in question was, by all accounts, handling the situation with greater poise and propriety than either you or Tadahiro _managed_. You both should be ashamed of your performance at the dinner. Poorly done.”

Byakuya’s jaw hardens. His gaze skitters to the tatami patterns on the floor. It doesn’t come as a shock that the dinner was a _test_. Everything is always a _test_ with his family. “Whose accounts?” he asks after a moment of simmering frustration.

Grandfather’s brush stops its fluttering, and he inclines his head. “All accounts. The restaurant proprietor, informed by the geisha no doubt, the three captains who kindly submitted to look after you, and Lord Heishi.”

“And Tadahiro?”

“I spoke to him this morning as well. He was contrite, remorseful for his foolishness.” The words came bladed and full of expectation.

Byakuya _should_ have come into his grandfather’s rooms with head hung in defeat, a weary look, and an apology clinging to his lips. Instead, he sat wearing his bruises and cuts like medals of honor. Head held up, shoulders square and even, and back ramrod straight.

His regret was exposing Hisana to censure and abuse. She suffered enough of both as of late. As to his meddling family, he feels nothing but immense condemnation.

There was only one other person in the room that his grandfather did not mention calling upon for his “accounts.” “Hisana?”

“I called upon her Mistress, who was ignorant of the events that unfolded last night. Unsurprising, given Hisana’s demonstration of character in the face of such silliness.” Grandfather finally sets down his brush, and he levels a piercing stare at Byakuya. “What were you trying to achieve by challenging Tadahiro to a skirmish? Defend your honor? Stupidly lash out against a romantic rival? Or prove your foolhardy love to a woman?”

“I love her.” 

The confession comes out equal parts forceful and unexpected. Byakuya’s heart trembles when he hears the words that he has never spoken aloud—could never admit even to himself—until now.

Grandfather replies with a scoffing chuckle; his gaze flits up to the ceiling, as if he can do nothing more with the confession than reject it fully and outright. “You haven’t the first idea of what _love_ is. Indeed, I’d wager that the _sole_ source of _any affection_ between you and Hisana comes from Hisana herself.”

Byakuya’s lips part, but, before he can protest this characterization of his heart, Grandfather cuts him off with a disapproving shake of the head.

“No, you will not get a word here,” says Grandfather sternly, “Not about love, at least. Hisana has suffered myriad indignities, scorn, and ridicule to protect your fragile ego. And you have returned her loving gestures with what? Making her an object of contempt among the noble women and jeopardizing her living with one of her wealthiest patrons? That isn’t love. That’s pride. _Your_ pride. Love is not a pretty line in a poem or the feelings of a passionate maelstrom. It’s an action. It must be practiced and performed to deserve recognition as anything more than a flight of some childish fancy.

“And I will not stake the happiness or well-being of my House on a puerile whim.”

“It’s not a whim,” protests Byakuya. “I have performed poorly in showing it, that much I admit. But, I do love her. Have loved her for years.” The anger melts from his voice, leaving him cold and desolate. Contrite. 

Grandfather plucks his writing brush from its stand and begins working through another order. His gaze is remote, but not unfeeling. “Hisana is set to serve the Central Chambers for a month. I am also forbidding you from leaving the house without my express permission to be obtained in _writing_. During which time, I expect you to be a perfect lord to your betrothed. Afterward, we can revisit your _musings_ about love.”

Byakuya’s jaw locks, and he tenses. It takes all of his restraint to hold back the reiatsu pounding to be released. “How do I demonstrate my love if the object of it is sealed away in a legislative tomb?”

Grandfather pins Byakuya with a glare. A glare that tells Byakuya another test is about to commence. “Hisana will be in attendance at the festivities tonight. You can start by proving yourself capable of propriety then.”

“Why?” he asks, voice low and bladed.

“Because you are the scion to one of the five great houses and society deserves prudent, capable leadership.”

“ _No_ ,” that wasn’t the nature of his question, “Why will she be there?”

“To afford you this final opportunity to prove to her and to the Heishi family and to me that you are capable of _restraint_.”

“And, if I succeed? What then?”

“The family _may_ be tempted to allow you to take Hisana as a concubine.”

Pure white rage blinds Byakuya. “I will not suffer her as a concubine.”

“Then, you will not have her at all,” replies Grandfather dismissively.

“I will not marry—”

“Finish that sentence and I will happily pull the requisite strings to dramatically _shorten_ your courtship with Suiko and exile Hisana to the wilds of Rukongai, from whence she came.” 

Grandfather studies the lines of anger, of horror, that darken Byakuya’s face for a long moment before adding, “You are dismissed, Byakuya.”

* * *

Hisana sits defiantly beside her rival, Sakuran. They are both dressed in their thin, white under-robes. Hair unfettered. No make-up. Weary-eyed and deeply unhappy. 

“Surprise to see you _here_ ,” remarks Sakuran. Her steely gray gaze sweeps across their mistress’s office, the room in which they have been _locked_ for nearly half an hour. 

Hisana swallows back raw humiliation at her present circumstances. No. She has never been forced out of her bed before the break of dawn to sit in perfect seiza in her mistress’s chambers. Her gaze drags to Sakuran.

 _Oh,_ _Sakuran_.

In the dim blues of morning, Hisana hates to admit that Sakuran is beautiful. More beautiful than she. More beautiful than _any_ of the current crop of courtesans. But, there was a thorniness about Sakuran; she was a flower that was beautiful to behold but that would surely poison you dead if you _dared_ to caress it.

In her ignorant youth, Hisana had been contemptuous of Sakuran. Hisana took small pleasure in the fact that she had never been _taken in_ by any of her patrons, unlike Sakuran. She felt pangs, and she had her desires, but she had suppressed them. In so doing, Hisana had fancied herself invulnerable to the headwinds of lust. Naively, she had also convinced herself that Sakuran was weak for feeling affection for one of her patrons. Hisana considered this a failing in Sakuran, a mortal flaw. 

Only now does Hisana realize how stupid she was. She had been dumb to rejoice in a bloodied heart. Even dumber to claim moral superiority when it failed to beat at all. She wasn’t _better_ than the wild girl who couldn’t abide her fate or the infidelity society demanded of her and her lovers.

Hisana had been delusional, grasping at any distinction to convince herself that Sakuran’s fate was of Sakuran’s own making. But, it wasn’t.

So, out of a sense of shame for her prejudice, Hisana does not level the arrow of retort at Sakuran. No. Sakuran’s derision is deserved, and it goes unchallenged.

“Who was it?” asks Sakuran, brow lifted in skepticism. 

Reflexively, Hisana’s chin jerks up, throat tightening, lips pressed firmly together. 

Sakuran tilts her head to the side like a sly cat plotting its capture of a broken bird. “Don’t tell me it’s the little Kuchiki lord.”

With brows knitting together, Hisana glances askance at Sakuran. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Sakuran laughs. Hard. She nearly crumples to the floor, gasping for air. When she finally pulls herself together, Sakuran’s keen eyes are on Hisana, and she presses the back of her hand to her lips. “And you were the smart one of us? How very disappointing for Mistress.”

Hisana lowers her head slightly. She deserved that.

“I don’t even understand. Of all the patrons that you’ve acquired. Byakuya Kuchiki is the one you decided to love? After what he did to Lady Niko Niwa? Did you _even_ hear that story?” 

Hisana doesn’t miss the undercurrent of malevolence undulating in Sakuran’s words, when she answers with a breathy, “Yes. I heard the rumors.”

They weren’t rumors, though. Hisana was there, with Lord Byakuya, strategizing how to handle what he had done. How to remedy the destruction of a highborn woman’s virtue and her family’s honor.

The incident had occurred shortly after the death of Byakuya’s father, four years ago. His grief had been swift and paralyzing, made even worse by his family’s reaction, which, according to sources familiar, had been parasitically opportunistic. Shortly thereafter, Byakuya responded to his bereavement by shutting Hisana out of his life. Months passed and he never sought her confidence or comfort.

Hisana had been concerned for him, concerned in a way she rarely felt for _anyone_ let alone her patrons. To assuage her own worry, Hisana did the only thing she knew to do: She wrote him a letter, where she exposed herself in a way that she had never exposed herself to anyone else.

She told him of her sin. The extent of it. She wanted him to know that she understood the blow of suffering, of helplessness, of failure. She wanted him to know that he had an ally, someone who had navigated the deafening darkness of loss. She wanted him to know that his grief was real, that no one could bear it for him, but that it would transform over time into something more manageable.

She found catharsis in the exercise, but, ultimately, she had been reluctant to send the letter to him. After great effort, she convinced herself that he wouldn’t read it. Or, if he did, would find her contemptible. Either reaction would lead to the same path, deprivation of his company. At which point, the possible benefit of him finding a small measure of comfort in her words seemed to outweigh the risks.

So, she put her pride aside and sent the letter.

Byakuya called upon her the next day. 

Hisana will never forget his state when he entered her rooms. His mien had been gray, his features had been made sharper from the pangs of grief, and the fiery light that usually burned in his eyes had dimmed. He had looked almost fragile, a word she had never associated with him until that day and never since. 

He confessed his grief, his poor judgment in ignoring her, and the personal crime he committed against Lady Niwa. He had and then discarded the lady in such a _public, extravagant_ fashion that the topic of the lady’s disgrace and failed ambition was all anyone could speak of for endless weeks.

Hisana had helped him cover up the story, re-write the gossip pages. She had also coached him through the steps of making amends with Lady Niwa and her outraged family. It wasn’t perfect, and the pain and injury were immense, but it was a start to atonement. An atonement that Byakuya continued without Hisana’s aid for the remainder of that turbulent period. 

Hisana inhales a troubled breath at this memory, but, when she meets Sakuran’s gaze, she shakes her head. “Just rumors,” she repeats the lie on a cracked breath.

Incredulous, Sakuran presses, “He never discussed it? Laughed about the lady’s thwarted dreams behind her back?”

There had never been any laughter or humor during their conversations regarding Lady Niwa. Lord Byakuya had realized what he had done had been wrong, and wrong for all the wrong reasons. “No,” Hisana answers firmly.

“How idiotic! Taking that man into your heart when he thinks so little of your connection that he wouldn’t even share his confidences with you.”

Hisana inclines her head and keeps her gaze focused on the wall ahead of them. 

“You do know he is promised to Lady Heishi, at least? Has he told you that much?”

“I know.” Byakuya, however, has never admitted the engagement to her, never provided his commentary on what was happening, what would happen in the future. He has avoided the topic entirely.

Sakuran shakes her head, almost pitying. “How stupid.”

“Indeed,” Mistress’s voice enters the room before she does. “Hisana has been uncharacteristically _stupid_ as of late. She and Lord Tadahiro Konoe appear to be vying for the title this season.”

Hisana turns her cheek to the criticism. 

“Now,” Mistress begins, her long shadow draping over Sakuran first, then Hisana, as she stops in front of them, “where to begin? Which one of you troublesome _girls_ do I chastise first?”

Neither Hisana nor Sakuran dares to meet Mistress’s stare.

“Sakuran,” decides Mistress, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you have something to share with me? Some _news_ , perhaps _?_ ”

Sakuran lifts her head and defiantly glares at their Mistress, “You learned my news just as I did from the physician when he came to examine me last night.”

Hisana’s eyes widen, and she catches a glimpse of Sakuran before glancing back to the wall. Sakuran doesn’t appear unwell. Not bloodied or bruised. Which can only mean that the physician was summoned because . . . .

“This is the second time, Sakuran. Of all the women this House has quartered, only you have fallen into this state _twice_.”

“Maybe the other women just aren’t strong enough.”

“And _maybe_ you’re trying to avoid your duties. Your attendants have confirmed that you sometimes reject the tonic we use, the tonic that has spared all the other girls from unwanted pregnancy.”

Sakuran trains her gaze on Mistress, never breaking once. She looks like a caged animal, desperately wanting to leap out from behind the bars and flee. But, she offers up no protest, no excuse. Only barely-contained anguish.

“I’ve scheduled the procedure for tomorrow night. While you recover for the next two months, I have assigned your patrons to the other girls,” says Mistress.

Sakuran chuckles, amused, before turning to Hisana. “Good luck trying to please them,” she says on a discordant note, “especially the captain. I think he’ll rather like _you_.”

Hisana doesn’t miss the anxiety braiding through Sakuran’s words, or the way her fingers dig into the flesh of her wrist at the thought of her captain. Fear. The beautiful, indomitable Sakuran besmirched by fear.

“And _you_ ,” hisses Mistress, eyes fixing Hisana, “Do you know who called on me at daybreak?”

Hisana hangs her head. “No.”

“The Lord Captain Kuchiki.”

“What did his attendant have to say?”

“You mistake me, _girl_. The Lord Captain came _himself_ to my door. To ask me questions. Questions that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer because my courtesan had been so catastrophically _arrogant_ as not to have informed me of how poorly the dinner went last night.”

Hisana’s jaw drops, and her gaze trails up to her mistress.

“The Lord Captain, _himself_ , told me of what transpired between his grandson and the head of the Konoe family. How this had exposed the Kuchiki to censure from the Heishi family, and how the betrothal between Lord Byakuya Kuchiki and Lady Heishi was on its last thread.”

The muscles traveling down Hisana’s neck and back slide into rigid tension. 

“So tell me, why didn’t you rouse me when you returned to the House last night. Tell me why you saw fit to leave me unawares, a stammering buffoon before the Lord Captain?”

Hisana shakes her head. “It wasn’t my intention, Mistress. I promise you that. Yes, the dinner was badly done. Yes, both Lord Byakuya and Lord Tadahiro shared heated words. But, the captains intervened and were smoothing the ruffled feathers when I left the party with Lord Heishi.”

Mistress’s brows climb at this. “You were in the streets with Lord Heishi, another courtesan’s patron? Should I expect retaliation from her House as well for your poor showing last night?”

“No, I already sent word to Okuni and her Mistress, explaining it before they hear the speculation.”

“Perhaps the only shred of prudence you have shown in the last week.” Mistress folds her arms across her chest and glares at Hisana. “Well, the captains were wholly unsuccessful in smoothing those _ruffled feathers_ , as you say. Both lords resorted to physical altercation, with Lord Konoe being sent to the Fourth for recovery. Fortunately, his wounds weren’t fatal. I suppose you already knew about Lord Byakuya Kuchiki’s sad condition, as he had not returned to Kuchiki manor by the time the Lord Captain made his call.”

Hisana sits perfectly still. Her face becomes an unreadable mask. Her gaze narrows to the dim flickers of Mistress’s shadow.

Mistress continues, “You do know that your bad showing last night could cost your patron his place in the line of succession as the heir to the Kuchiki clan? Two highly publicized scandals involving two highborn women would make it very difficult to secure him a match if this betrothal fails, and with no match comes no heirs. The family will disown him.”

Hisana sucks in her cheeks at this and lowers her head farther, heart pounding in her chest. How could things have gone so terribly awry?

“You will set this misunderstanding to rights tonight at the Kuchiki event, which you _will_ attend. I don’t care if you must suffer the blades, the arrows, and the slings of ridicule, scorn, contempt, and censure, for you deserve that and little else. If Lady Heishi decides to stab you in the chest with a kanzashi, then I instruct you to stand there and take it, and don’t you dare bleed a drop of blood until you’re off the premises. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Mistress. I will be perfectly well-behaved. I promise.” 

“Afterward, I am sending you for service in the Chambers for a month. You will receive no visitors nor shall you break any further rules. Do you understand, Hisana?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The foolishness displayed by all three of you last night.” Mistress loosens a heavy sigh. “Unbelievable,” she says before turning her attention back to Hisana and Sakuran, “Now, both of you go. Out of my sight!”

Hisana and Sakuran trade sympathetic stares before leaving the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Bridge chapter! I know those aren't as fun, but there is a mention of Aizen, so maybe that spices some things up? 
> 
> We are on the downhill slide for this arc, which is great, as I'm replotting the current timeline and eager to move onto Rukia, Renji, Ichigo, and the gang. I feel like the next chapter is going to take forever to complete given the number of characters to handle and the general awfulness of the Kuchiki fam so this may be the last update for a week or two. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! ^_^


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